The Missing Elevator Scene
by Coralee2
Summary: Snow/Emily, after she doesn't take the pod to earth and before she comes face-to-face with the convict-rulers, Emily finds some more courage. How? Where? When? The answer to this: in the elevator...


"I don't really know where the case is. I just needed you to help me." Emily's pained, tearful eyes met Snow's, he stared back blandly.

The elevator crunched to a stuttering halt. Emily toppled over backwards, her head hitting the metal wall with a soft _thwack_.

"Ok." Snow moved to open the doors, but realized that Emily had not righted herself, or moved at all. She lay awkwardly half curled against the elevator wall. He moved closer to see her face, and then he sighed.

Emily's face hadn't crumpled. She didn't sag or collapse or hug herself, but all the same, Snow had seen that expression before. He could read it clearly across her face as he had seen it on other men in the field. She was _done_. The straw had finally broken the mule's back. Or more correctly, the mule woke up and realized that its back was loonnnng since broken.

"Hey, heyheyhey. None of that." he discouraged with a roll of his eyes. He moved to crouch in front of her and grabbed her upper arms. He roughly tugged her back up to a sitting position and placed her, like a rag doll, against the elevator wall. "Falling to pieces is _not_ useful." He explained this slowly and forcefully, trying again to make her sit up while she just listlessly –and annoyingly—slid back down the wall.

"How do you bear it?" she asked in a vague monotone. Her eyes stared, unfocused, at him and he was surprised to see that the pain was gone, replaced by a blandness that closely mirrored his own.

"Oh you know, beer, fistfights, porn vids," he shrugged and rolled his eyes, tugging her up the wall again to a proper sitting position, "annnd the occasional manicure. Gunshot residue is _hell_ on the cuticles, girl."

She cracked a smile, and he faintly smiled back.

And then she sobbed.

Before Snow could even react, she launched herself at him. She was on her knees, in his arms, crushing herself to his chest, clinging to his bulletproof vest as if it could protect her from the things she'd already seen. He dropped his arms awkwardly around her, his machine-gun dangling ridiculously from his thumb.

"There there-?" He tried for his usual patronizing, sardonic tone but it came out unsure. And she only cried harder – and louder.

He sighed.

Carefully, he put down his machine gun and sat down on the floor. Wrapping her arms around her gently, he held her, tucked her head under his chin and waited.

Another stuttering crunch and the elevator dropped a few more inches, went dark, and dropped again. Emily buried her face in his neck and screamed at every drop. Moments later, emergency lights kicked in, bathing the space in a dim green glow.

"Hey, shhhh, be quiet for a minute." Snow ordered brusquely. Emily continued to whimper. Snow pushed her back and took her face roughly in his hands. "Shhh, please just _shhhhh_."

"I-I don't want to d-die like this." she choked out.

"What? In the arms of a sexy stud-of-a-guy?" he quipped sarcastically.

_Now_ her face crumpled, her shoulders curled forward with despair, and she dove back into his shoulder to weep.

"Hey!" he objected halfheartedly, "I might take that response as a personal insul-"

Then she was kissing him. Hot and aggressive with a tinge of desperation, her mouth pushing against his, her hands winding in his hair. He froze momentarily, before pushing her face gently away from his.

"Not that I'm complaining about this is a _lovely_ little hiatus from reality, but how hard did you hit your hea-?"

"Shuttup."

Her hands clenched his hair forcefully as her tongue invaded his mouth. Effectively distracted and silenced, Snow groaned and dropped his hands to her waist, instinctively pulling her hips against his own. In response she ground hard against him.

Emily dropped her hands from his hair and trailed them down his face, to his neck, to his shoulders, to the collar of his shirt. She trailed her hands down to his belt, his pants, where she trailed her fingertips lightly over him, questioningly.

"Well _I'm_ not going to stop you." Snow murmered as he sprinkled kisses along her jawline, down her neck, biting gently on the sweet spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Emily shuddered, her stroking hands momentarily forgotten as she lost herself in the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

Snow seized the moment. In an instant, he stripped back the orange jumpsuit from her torso and arms. He returned his mouth to her throat, her neck, her chest, nipping and sucking hard enough to leave marks scattered across her soft skin above and along the line of her tanktop.

Emily whimpered and squirmed on his lap, raising her arms above her head, she removed her tanktop and bra in one smooth move. Snow took one of her nipples, peaked and rosy with arousal, into his mouth as his rough hands explored the creamy skin of her back. Much to Snow's amusement, Emily began to mew.

After a moment she fought her way back to her senses and dropped her hands to his belt with a new sense of urgency. She found the buckle and twisted it open, unsnapped his pants, and slid her hand inside. She took his erect cock in hand and gave a smooth, strong stroke. This motion elicited an animalistic groan from Snow who caught her around the wrists, pulling her hand out from his trousers.

"You _are_ a lot of trousers" Emily commented with mock innocence.

Snow rolled his eyes "uh-huh, funny," and in an instant had Emily flat on her back, both her wrists pinned above her head in one of his hands, kissing her roughly while his other hand worked at the buckles at the waist of her jumpsuit. He quickly had it undone completely and dragged it off of her body, tossing it to some lonely corner of the elevator. His stray hand stroked up her thigh – the one that still had sensation – and he slid his index finger along her underwear, feeling her wet arousal and making her arch and squirm and moan under him.

The next thing she knew her underwear was gone and Snow slammed inside her with a single deep thrust. She whimpered with surprise and pain, then pleasure as he withdrew and then plunged his entire length back into her. And again and again. His bulletproof vest scratched at her nipples and his teeth nipped at her throat as he continued to push into her, hard and fast.

Snow was reaching his limit, she felt amazing: hot and tight and wet. But he wasn't done just yet. He looked down and saw Emily's face, eyes heavy with desire and mouth open and panting and moaning. He captured her mouth at the same moment that his fingers moved from her hip to twist and play across her clit. She cried out into his mouth, but he kept her quiet with forceful kisses. She worked one of her hands out of his grasp and dug her nails into his biceps. He touched and thrust and kissed her until he felt her tense under him, her back arch in an uncontrolled spasm of ecstasy. Then he let himself fall off the edge, a few particular hard thrusts and he spent himself and collapsed atop her. Her hand fell away from his upper arm, where it left four perfect crescent-shaped red indents from her nails.

After a few moments, Snow raised his head, and propped himself up on his arms. Hovering over Emily's face, he landed a soft kiss on her nose before drawing away and zipping up his pants. From his pocket he drew out a cigarette and lit the tip with a flick of his lighter. Inhaling deeply, he smiled smugly at the situation.

"That was... I never... My heart was going a mile an hour..." she murmered softly, as she curled onto her side, into his chest.

"Yeah, that was..._what_? _WHAT?_" His cigarette dropped from his lips as he backpedaled hard and solidly connected with the elevator wall, this time _his_ head made a resounding _thwack_. "Say that again. Wait, no, don't say that again. _Don't_ say that you _never_?!"

"Calm down, Trousers. I just never had the _opportunity_, not the lack of interest or desire." Emily rolled over and gave Snow a heartstopping view of her naked body's profile, he felt himself getting hard all over again. "It's just difficult to get serious in the backseat when the secret service guards are playing cards on the dashboard."

"Please, please please _please_, tell me that I didn't just...the president's daughter. Aw _shit_." Snow dropped his head into his hands. "Castrated. I'll be castrated." he murmered matter of factly.

"Was it...bad?" Emily seemed incredulous, and suddenly apprehensive. She sat up quickly, and reached for the jumpsuit to cover herself. Her eyes met his and suddenly an absurd thought crossed Snow's mind. The entire situation suddenly seemed lighter and he smirked, then laughed aloud. A reached for a new cigarette.

"The first daughter just fucked my brains out on the floor of an elevator in a space-jail – a space-jail in full revolt – and she's concerned that it wasn't the hottest fucking thing that I ever had?" Snow grabbed her chin and drew her face close. "You don't need to worry if it was good, oh, _it was_ _good._ But you _might_ want to be worried about that little white-house-issued monitor in your arm." Emily's touched her left wrist and her eyes widened.

"I bet you just gave some poor fuck _the chance of a lifetime_ to explain your accelerated heartbeat, uneven breathing, and whatever the fuck else they monitor to the entire control room down there – including, I'm sure, your dear old..."

"..._Dad_!" she squeaked.


End file.
